Tiger among Geese
by Elven Sorcerer
Summary: What if people started Hogwarts when they were 17 instead 11? And how will Harry adapt to Hogwarts after living in St Brutus for years, more importantly, could Hogwarts adapt to a different Harry. Follow Harry in a different Hogwarts adventure. Mature content and grittier characters. Features Harry with a spine. On Hiatus.
1. Prologue: A stranger in Privet Drive

**Notes: Hello, everyone. Sorry for the long wait, but I have been extremely busy with a new job, especially since I had to move into another country for a project. So, the time I could spend on writing was rather limited.**

 **This is the start of my rewrite attempt to story. If all goes well, I'm planning to rewrite whole story, trying to portray characters as adults instead of grown-up children. All comments about the new version are welcome, hope you guys enjoy it.**

 **Prologue: A stranger in the Privet Drive**

A boy, sixteen years old, stepped outside from a red bus, gazing at Privet Drive for the first time in five years. "Everything is still the same," he murmured to himself. Everything was still the same, except him.

It was striking just how different he had become in half a decade. When he was leaving the place, pushed inside a police car by an overweight policeman, he was a timid, underdeveloped boy, afraid of his own shadow. His skin had a pale, sickly color; his unkempt black hair looked like a mop. To top it all, he walked around dressed in over-sized rags his cousin, his shoulders slouched in an attempt to hide from people's attention.

The teenager that left the bus at the moment, however, was radically different. He had the build of a middle-class boxer, muscular but lean, just shy of six feet. His black hair was a short buzz-cut, his lightning bolt shaped scar prominently on display, taking attention away from numerous other faint scars on his face. He was dressed in simple black jeans, a tight, worn-out black t-shirt, both looking well past their prime. He was carrying an old leather jacket in his hand, and an old canvas backpack hanging from his shoulders, containing his meager personal belongings.

The greatest difference, however, his stance. His previous slouched stance that shouted fear was gone. He stood tall, but managed to exclude an aura of laziness. Not like laziness that caused by sitting in front of a TV every day, but like a predator who already aware of his surroundings, and assured that he was the most dangerous things in the immediate vicinity.

With a small sigh, he started walking through the streets. He noticed several neighbors watching him from windows, shaking their heads in disappointment. Not that it was surprising, he thought, he was sticking like a sore thumb amidst the boring scenery of Privet Drive.

Not caring even the slightest bit about their disapproving glares, he reached to number 4 and knocked the door a few times. He didn't have to wait for long. A thin woman with long neck appeared on the door. "How can I help you…" she started to say to the stranger at the door but stopped when she took notice of his apparel. "Who are you," she said, "and what do you want?"

The boy looked at her, with a slight, sardonic smile on his face and clutched his heart with an exaggerated manner. "I'm heartbroken," he said with a flat tone, "My own aunt hadn't recognized me."

She looked uncomprehendingly for a moment, then anger sparked on her eyes. "You!" she shouted, "How dare you show your face here you freak. Did you escape from the institute? I'm calling the police."

"Why, I missed you to my dear auntie," the boy replied with an over the top happy voice and a large smile. "It is so great to hear your lovely, melodic voice after all these years." He deliberately turned and glanced towards the people gathering around. "Hey, look," he exclaimed, "The neighbors are all watching as. They must have missed me too."

She froze for a moment, clearly trying to decide what to do. Then she took a step back and said, "Get inside, quick."

"I love you too, auntie," the boy answered back and stepped inside. He looked around, observing the place he reluctantly called home when he was just a child. Just a glance was enough to show him that almost everything was the same, just as boring and tidy when he first saw the place. "I'm impressed," he said. "You guys managed to gather up the place so well that it is impossible to tell it has been almost burned to cinders."

"How dare you say something like that, you freak," she shouted, slapping the boy with all her might. "You almost burned our house down, and you are just standing there joking about it."

He smiled again, but this time, his smile had a little dangerous quality. "Why auntie? I just believed that a change in decor in order."

"Why are you here you worthless deadbeat, you should be in St. Brutus, your punishment was seven years, not five. Nicholas assured us about that!" she said, catching what she said only too late.

Hearing that little tidbit of information, several things that hadn't made sense before suddenly clicked in his mind. He almost found it funny that how his stay would be lengthened by the smallest infraction, whether it be fighting, or disrespecting authority. Not that he minded, though, he was far from only child happy to prefer hellhole called St. Brutus to home. "So, that is how it was," he said. "I assume that asshole was one of the club buddies of Vernon. That certainly explains the abominable personality." He stopped for a moment and laughed in genuine amusement before continuing. "Then I would be correct to assume you didn't get the latest news about your precious judge friend."

"What about him," his aunt interjected, her passion for latest gossip momentarily suppressing disgust she felt towards her nephew.

"He has been suspended from duty, after being caught with a few underage prostitutes. If I were you, I would ask Vernon about their late club nights, though, who knows?" Letting himself enjoying the shock on her face, he continued. "Investigations are still going on, but they pulled him from child cases, just in case. Unfortunately for you, with my case judge changed, my conduct was suddenly not so horrible anymore. So they let me go."

"No, you lie, Nicholas is an upstanding citizen, he would never do something like that," she shouted in anger.

He just shrugged, and murmured "Not like I give a fuck."

She stood for a minute, her hands shaking a little, trying to progress the new situation. "What are you going to do now?" she asked in trepidation. "You cannot stay here, I will not have an arsonist at my home."

He suddenly stood still and started to speak in a chilly voice. "I wouldn't recommend you to mention that event, auntie, as I'm not an outsider you can bend the fact as you wish. I remember the events preceding it, constant beatings, locked cupboards, attempts to starve me. I'm not a ten-year-old anymore, my dear auntie, and if you try to push me, I will push back harder, much harder. And believe me, this time, your home wouldn't 'almost' burn."

She stood still, mumbling in indignation, "You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me," he said, his tone again flat. Though this time, a flat tone was only giving credibility to his statement, making it scarier. "I'm sixteen, and I would be still judged by the youth court. It is not a punishment I wouldn't take the revenge. After all, I was pretty comfortable in the St. Brutus."

"What do you want from us," she asked, about to cry. "Do you want to live here again?"

He snorted. "Oh, hell no! Not even if you pay me."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want my emancipation. I'm sure Vernon and his prostitution buddies, oh pardon, I misspoke, club buddies should be able to get me one without any red-tape. He gets it, and I will be out of your hair forever."

His aunt, almost shell-shocked after that rapid dialogue, nodded. "Okay, I will talk to Vernon about it."

"Good," he grumbled and pulled a paper from his pocket. "You can reach me from that number when paperwork is complete," he said, and turned his back, and left the house, slamming the door on his way out.

Harry Potter was back in town.

/\/\/\/\

Wanting to have a quick smoke before leaving the neighborhood, he walked to a nearby, familiar park. When arrived, he looked around with a fond smile, remembering all the times he hid here, hiding from the bullies. Removing one from his front pocket, he lighted it, and took a deep breath, enjoying the feeling of nostalgia the place awakened in him. While he wasn't an addict, as cigarettes were always hard to get inside St. Brutus, he did enjoy the occasional smoke, especially if he was feeling emotional. As he took a deep breath, his mind slipped towards his encounter with his aunt earlier.

If he was being honest, he was surprised how calm he was in front of his aunt. He half expected to fly into a rage and attacking her, remembering all the times she beat him when he was small and helpless. But seeing her after all these years, so small and pitiful, much of his repressed anger evaporated. Not because he forgive them, mind you, just that he decided she didn't deserve anything more than his cold pity, locked in a home with two pigs, spending the days to catch some juicy piece of gossip like a frog trying to get some flies.

"Not that I'm not lucky," Harry whispered to himself sardonically. He remembered the state Dudley was at eleven, an overweight, spoiled child with no self-control, no ambition and no intelligence, all spoiled by love, Dursley family style. Apparently their love was even more destructive than their hate. "And at least, I didn't grow up to be a pathetic wimp, running around, trying to please everyone around" he finished his thoughts out loud. It was the fate that was waiting for him if it wasn't for the hard earned lessons of St. Brutus, he believed.

"Who are you, and what are doing in our park," a high pitched voice asked, in a pathetic attempt intimidation.

Distracted from his thoughts, Harry raised his head and checked out the owner of the voice. He saw a tall, overweight boy, trying to look menacing. Three others in similar sizes were standing around him in a half-circle, trying to enhance intimidation value of his looks.

It only took a few seconds for Harry to realize just who they were. Dudley was easiest to recognize, his face still resembling a pig even if he managed to shed some of his enormous weight. One of the other boys, he managed to identify as Pier Polkiss, steadfast lackey of Dudley since they were eight years old. Harry remembered him well from all the times he held his hands to his back while Dudley beat him up.

Harry could feel anger stirring inside. While he might not care about Petunia and Vernon too much, Dudley was a completely different kettle of fish. He was the direct responsible for much of his childhood pains, from intimidating every potential friend of Harry to flat out physical beatings. "I'm touched, Duddlykins. You hadn't seen me in five years, and the first thing you do is asking my identity. Be careful, one might think you don't care about your relatives."

Dudley stood there for a few minutes in surprise. "There is no way that you are the freak," he finally managed to say. "He was just a pathetic little snot." He stood there for a second looking at him, his small eyes further narrowed as he looked at him more carefully. "Wait, you are right, you are the little freak," he told, laughing with sudden confidence. "What did you miss most, you four eyes, drinking from the toilet, or Harry huntings?"

Harry's lips tightened a bit, a spark of anger appearing depths of his emerald eyes. In his last two years, even the most hardened occupants of St. Brutus learned to not to push further when they saw this expression. Dudley and his friends, however, didn't know this new Harry well enough to recognize the danger signs. "I'm very impressed with you, Duddyboy," Harry said. "I have never thought you would be able to construct a full sentence without five minutes preparation time. Your parents must be so proud of you."

It took a few seconds for Dudley to fully progress what has been said. "Take that back, you freak," Dudley shouted with a red face.

Harry chose not to tell anything. He was familiar enough with the scene to recognize that nothing he could do would stop the fight, not that he such a desire in the first place. He wanted to give a little payback, for all the 'lovely' childhood memories.

"What, freak?" Dudley asked, suddenly taking a step closer, raising his hands to take a boxing stance. "Swallowed your tongue?"

Idiot, Harry thought, examining his faulty boxing stance with an experienced eye. He met with the guys like that from time to time. They felt untouchable after taking a few martial arts or boxing classes, diving headfirst into street fights. Usually, their euphoria only lasted until they met with an experienced street fighter. Unfortunately for Dudley, Harry was one of them.

Seeing Dudley is shifting his weight for a straight, he decided to start first. Without any warning, he took a step forward, inside Dudley's guard, and smashed his chin with a right hook. Rest of the group suddenly froze in shock, too used to beat up small kids who cover in fear instead of attacking back.

However, their sudden indecision made an unfair fight even easier. Without giving them any time to recover, he lunged towards the one who was closest to him, punching him on his diaphragm. Not watching him falling to the ground, he quickly applied a similar one to one of the others. Then he turned towards Piers, who was only one still standing, watching him charge towards him, swinging his fist, overextended. Dodging his slow and obvious punch with a small side step, Harry punished that reckless charge with a counter, which, combined with his targets forward momentum, was enough to down him to count.

"God damn it you freak, you will pay for it," Dudley said, as he was pushing himself up.

"Come on Duddlekins, your threats were only impressive when we both were eleven and two of your friends were holding my arms," he said. Harry waited while Dudley was taking a boxing stance again. This time, he stayed in defensive, either deflecting or dodging the blows. After dodging several, he suddenly dropped low and hit him on the stomach with a kick.

"You cheater," Dudley shouted.

"Really," Harry replied, dodging another wide punch, but delivering a body blow in return. "I don't see a ring around us."

Enraged, Dudley charged a few more times, always being punished by a strong counter.

A few minutes later, Harry standing above these four, watching them moan in pain. He took a deep breath from his cigarette, then threw it on the ground. He leaned towards Dudley, and whispered, "I guess this is goodbye, my dear cousin." Kicking the grounded figure for one last time, he started walking towards the bus stop, feeling oddly peaceful as he left a part of his life behind.

/\/\/\/\

Petunia called him a few days later to a court, to sign his share of papers, dispersing the last bond between Harry and Dursley family.

Finally free, Harry decided to stay in a motel, enjoying the life before setting up a more permanent arrangement.

However, his tentative plans have been disturbed by the sudden appearance of an owl, carrying a letter…


	2. Chapter 1: Baby steps in a new world

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

 **NOTE: Welcome all, for the second chapter of my work. Let me give you a friendly warning though. The changes in the material will not be limited to ages of the students. Don't say I didn't warn you.**

 **/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\**

 **Chapter 1: Baby steps in a new world**

Harry woke up with a shrill scream, echoing between walls of his small room.

"What?" he mumbled, opening his bloodshot eyes, only to see a brown owl sitting at the window, looking at him. Then he turned towards the source of the noise, a blond girl with a valoptious figure, lying next to him in her skimpy underwear. "It is just a bloody bird," Harry mumbled, "Why the hell you are shouting?"

"Why am I shouting?" she slowly repeated, her voice rising at every word. "It is a bloody owl. They are creepy and I want it gone. Make it go away!"

"Sure…" he started, but he realized he couldn't remember her name, so he went with a generic call. "Sure sweetie, just give me a second." For a second, he contemplated about standing up and chasing it away, but the pull of the warm bed proven to be stronger. Instead, Harry reached and picked up a pillow, throwing it by aiming the wall next to the owl, thinking a hit that is reasonably close should scare it away.

The bird, however, watched the trajectory of the pillow without even ruffling its feathers. Harry stared at it for a second, and the owl stared back. His head still hurting thanks to last night's party, Harry was the first one gave up the uncommon staring match. He laid back on his pillow and closed his eyes, trying to go back into sleep.

"Make it go away," the girl repeated, her voice rising even further.

"I don't care," Harry said, not even deigning to open his eyes. "I'm trying to sleep."

"Make it go away, or I'm leaving," she repeated, this time, her voice much lower, and much more serious. After waiting several seconds for a response that just wasn't coming, she reached to her clothes, annoyed. "I'm leaving," she repeated while being dressed. Hearing no objection from her temporary partner, she left the room in haste, slamming the door on her way out.

"Finally," Harry murmured, trying to go back to his sleep. "Bloody birds."

But, is efforts to return back to his sleep proved to be in vain. Just as he was about doze off, he felt a sharp pain on his arm. He got up, swearing, and he found that the owl was next to him, staring at him with its large, unblinking eyes. While contemplating on whether to murder it or just grab it and throw it out of the window, the owl raised his leg. Harry noticed that there was a thick letter, tied to its leg."

"Why there is a letter tied to a ruddy bird?" he asked to himself even as he reached and untied it. Then the owl hooted in a noise Harry interpreted as approval, weirdly enough, and flew away from the same window it used as the entrance.

His sleepiness dispelled by curiosity, Harry turned the back of the letter and read the address on the back of the envelope, written with green ink.

 _Harry Potter;_

 _Sunshine Motel, Room 224;_

 _Rickmansworth Road;_

 _London;_

"Weird," he mumbled, as he tore down the envelope, revealing its contents.

 _Dear Harry Potter,_

 _We are happy to announce that you have been accepted to our prestigious school of Witchcraft and Wizardly, Hogwarts._

 _Headmaster,_

 _Albus Dumbledore_

"What a lame joke," he said. Though an elaborate one, he had to admit, as there were lots of other material in the envelope, from booklist to directions to various places. For a moment, he thought about to throwing it on the trash, but he decided otherwise at the last moment. Since they spent that much time on a joke, I might indulge them, at least a for a bit, he thought, placing the letter on the console.

"Magic, what a stupid idea," he snorted even as he returned to his highly contested nap.

 **/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\**

After a satisfactory nap, he decided to travel to Leaky Cauldron, the nearest entrance for that supposed magical alley. After a quick travel through the tube, he arrived at the Charing Cross Road. A quick search yielded results and he found himself in front of an old looking pub, almost invisible between two high, modern looking department stores.

How weird, he thought as he walked inside. He found it a bit weird that people passing in front of the building wasn't paying the slightest attention to it. After thinking on it for a few moments, he shrugged his shoulders at the odd phenomenon, and walked inside the rundown pub.

Half an hour later, Harry was sitting on a chair, trying to process just what was going on. How can it be possible, Harry's reason shouted. It's not making any sense.

 _When he entered half an hour ago, Harry was a teenage boy fully confident in his world view, and he entered the rundown pub to have some fun with a poor attempt of a joke._

 _What he found inside, however, shattered his whole paradigm. The first thing he noticed was odd dresses of the people. It looked like a scene from middle ages, all people dressed in colorful robes. Harry stood in a corner, his eyes locked on the occupants, ready to catch a glimpse of hidden ropes and mirrors. He was expecting grand displays wrapped in smoke in an attempt of being impressive. Instead, he met with the casual displays of ability, achieving simple results. Grandiose, Harry could understand. A marvelous show provided you with a lot of opportunities to hide a rope here, a mirror there. A busty assistant provided enough distraction so that you could pull a disappearance trick._

 _These people, however, had none of these. As long as he watched, they appeared and disappeared with loud pops, levitating simple household objects towards them for mundane uses._

 _Standing still in shock, Harry's mind slipped towards the all the weird events happened through his life. The time when his hair grew back after his aunt tried to cut it with an abominable cut after getting tired of bringing him to a barber. The time when his arm mended itself overnight after Vernon broke it in a fit of rage when he got a better grade than Dudley. The fire... The time he was attacked by a gang and blacked out, only to later learn that all of the gang had been hospitalized, and they swore never to mess with him again..._

 _All of these, and more passed in front of his eyes, almost if his mind finally comprehending what happened before now that the curtain is raised… Suddenly hit by the realization that he had supernatural powers, he managed to stumble towards a chair and sat there in shock._

And now he sat in a chair in the rundown pub, trying to resolve biggest existence crisis of his life. He didn't know how long he sat there until he was distracted by someone asking questions.

"Hello lad," an older looking man looked at him and asked. "Is there anything I can help you with."

Harry looked at him, feeling half drunk. He tried to speak, but words didn't reach to his tongue.

The barmen looked at him for a moment, then his face lit with an understanding smile. "I'm guessing you got the invitation for a school, and decided to visit without waiting for an official guide, right?"

Words were still escaping him, so he just nodded.

"Tongue tied in excitement, huh, but don't worry it happens to all of us." A conspiratory expression appeared in his face, he leaned in a bit and whispered. "I think I know the best medicine, and I won't tell if you won't," he said and moved towards the bar, and come back with a large shot glass, filled with an amber liquid with a thick vapor cloud on it. He put it in front of Harry.

Harry didn't know what exactly it was, but he wasn't stupid enough to not to deduce whatever liquid was in the glass, it contained a copious amount of alcohol. He grabbed it and drunk it in one gulp, enjoying the burning feeling traveling through his throat. He suddenly felt the need to belch, but he wasn't expecting to actually belch fire. "Holy shit, that was amazing," he mumbled in excitement.

"Right," the barmen said in approval. "Are you feeling better," he asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I was just a bit shocked."

"Don't worry about it, it happens to best of us. By the way, young man, am I correct to assume you are a muggle-born."

"What?" Harry asked. He never heard something like that, but it felt suspiciously like an insult.

"Sorry, magical term. I meant were your parents were without magic."

"Yes," Harry said. He never heard something about his parents having superpowers, and even the Dudley's, idiots they are, would have treated him better if they knew he would have the ability to use magic. On second thought, they were equally likely to drown me as a baby, he corrected with a bitter smile.

"Okay then, normally a school representative should have arrived with the latter and explained the things for you, but I guess bureaucratic mistakes happen from time to time. Let me explain the bare basics at least before you go on with school shopping."

In rapt attention, Harry listened to the barmen, or Tom as he identified himself, explaining the basics like wands, basics of the monetary system and what he could expect to buy at what amount, basic modes of transportation, and simple laws he must follow like no magic in the muggle areas for the underages. After the fifteen minute explanation, Tom apologized about needing to go back to work, but Harry waved it away, feeling quite grateful his explanation.

"Follow me then," Tom said as he stood up, "I still need to show passage to Diagon Alley." Seeing Harry snort at the name, he joined goodheartedly, "Believe me, sometimes weird naming habits of our world even makes me crack, and I lived in it for my whole life." After reaching to the passage, he drew his wand, and touched two places in quick succession, and brick wall melted away, revealing the Alley in all its splendor.

Harry stood there, silent, words escaping from him for the second time, today.

"I recommend you to go to the bank to exchange some money first," he said, pointing a huge, ornate building, covered with obsidian as well as Harry could tell. "Then go to that bookstore," he said, pointing a small one, almost disappearing in the corner. "It sells second-hand stuff, but they are still in pretty well condition, and much more affordable. I recommend you to buy a book explaining magical Britain first before moving to school ones, though. I'm sure you are excited to read about your new subjects, but knowing more about the society you are about to enter never hurts."

"Thank you for all your help," Harry said, grateful for the intervention of him. "I don't know what I would do without your help."

"Do not worry young Harry, it happens to all of us." He was just about to turn and went inside, then he stopped and asked another question. "By the way, which school you have been invited to?"

"What was it?" Harry murmured, trying to remember the name he read. "It was something with logs, no, hogs. Hogwarts, I think."

"Really?" barmen asked, surprise evident on his face. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Harry answered. "This is what is written on the letter. Why, is this weird?"

"Not weird, but just rare, extremely so," barmen said, astonishment clear on his face. "Even amongst the best of the families, being accepted into Hogwarts is a huge accomplishment, young man. Only a few muggle born is chosen to attend its prestigious halls every year. Treasure your luck," he finished, a wistful expression on his face.

"Okay, thanks," Harry said, walking away, a bit surprised that he was invited to what apparently was a posh school, similar to Eton if what he understood from Tom was correct. Then he decided that it wasn't important for now, and instead he focused on his walk towards the bank, and trying to observe all of his surroundings at the same time.

He reached the doors guarded by some ugly critters, goblins as Tom named them. Harry would have laughed at them, but he was sharp enough to notice their axes were far too sharp to be purely ornamental and their hold on it looked far too practiced. So he passed through the huge doors, and entered a great antechamber. Looking around, he picked one of the teller lines, and started waiting for his turn.

Then his turn has come, and he stepped in front of the teller. The teller looked at him with an expression Harry assumed as impatience.

"I will exchange some money," Harry said, pushing three hundred pounds toward.

The goblin has quickly examined them with few sharp, practiced movement, then pulled ten silver coins, and six copper looking ones, and slid them towards Harry. "Next," he said, dismissing him.

Harry picked the money and left the building. "God, this exchange rate is terrible," he mumbled to himself. One of the things Tom didn't know was the exchange rate between normal and magical money, something he never really used. A quick mental calculation later, he realized a galleon must be around five hundred pounds. "Damn," he whispered, a bit annoyed. "That is a fucked up exchange rate."

Then he walked towards the bookstore Tom referred, skipping a few better-looking ones on the way, though a cursory glance to the price tags showed that Tom was rather an accurate summing that most of these were rather expensive.

Passing though the small door, he found himself in a small shop, filled with worn out books to a brim.

"Hello," a voice asked behind the counter. "How can I help you?" a voice asked from behind the counter. Harry could see the owner of the voice was a middle-aged man with brown hair, wearing a simple dark green robe.

"Yes," Harry answered. "Tom sent me here, he mentioned that you would have a good information package about the magical Britain, and possibly a set of the school books too."

"Of course," the man said with a smile on his face. "Which school?"

"Hogwarts," Harry answered.

"Unfortunately, I don't know which books Hogwarts will be using this year. You see, I usually don't have any Hogwarts students in here, they usually prefer buying new books instead of the used ones."

"That is silly," Harry countered. "A book is a book, and being old only adds to its value, like a wine getting more valuable as the years pile upon them." Harry knew from experience that second-hand booksellers were in love with that sentence. He was not wrong.

"Exactly, young man," man agreed with a huge smile on his face. "Let me see your book list and we will see if I could find some of them for you at least."

Harry gave the list to him, and the man started to comment one by one. "Lucky for you, I have two of them in stock. The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, and Charm for the Beginners. However, I'm sorry to say but, whoever picked some of these books were utter incompetent. Both Magical Drafts and Potions, and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Preservation is utter shit, not even worth the paper they were printed on. I wonder what kinds of idiots assigned them. I recommend you to pick some supplement books this two topics. Also, you might think about picking a better history book, though. Bagshot is not what we call as an objective writer."

"Thanks," Harry said. "How much they cost in total, if I buy all of them including the supplementary ones."

"It all comes to three galleons."

"Is it possible for you to hold rest of it, I will only buy the muggle born guide for now."

"Of course."

"Thanks," Harry said, and bought the information package for two sickles, then left the shop a few minutes later, after skimming through the package.

 **/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\**

Several minutes later, he was walking through the side streets connecting to Diagon Alley, his mind trying to churn the facts about the magical world he learned through the day.

The first thing he noticed was the difference of monetary system. The fact that they still used gold and silver as currency was a bit weird, but ultimately, it was little more than a novelty. The difference between comparable buying power, on the other hand, wasn't nearly so. It wasn't hard to notice everything was extremely expensive when thought in pounds, one of the strongest currencies of the normal world. Though it was far from surprising for Harry, he saw no indication of continuous trade between two worlds, and that meant from an economic perspective, the normal world was running a huge deficit. In the end, Harry decided only thing probably keeping exchange rate current rate was probably government guarantee or something, not that he cared much. What he cared, however, that it meant Harry needed a substantial amount of money, and he needed it fast.

The second topic he was focused on was the differences in the legal system. He was surprised, and a bit alarmed, to find out that most of the topic referred in the book was about Statue of Secrecy. Taking a mental note to read about the laws as soon as possible, as you never know what law to avoid and what to break if you don't know the laws first, his thoughts moved onto next topic.

His mind jumping from topic to topic, he didn't realize that he was moving towards the seedier parts of the town, nor did he notice that there was a man, clad in an old robe and a nasty smile on his face, was following him until it was too late.

He noticed the man only after he spoke. "Look what it is," the man said with an obvious glee, "A little mud-blood, walking around the neighborhood like he owns it."

Noticing the man too late, Harry swore to his distracted mood. Normally, he wouldn't do something so stupid, but busy processing today's events, his attentiveness had slipped a little. He suddenly felt vulnerable, like he didn't felt for a long, long while. He was aware of magic less than a day, and know almost nothing about what magicians were really capable off. However, his habits took on, and Harry slouched a bit, trying to present himself as nonthreatening as possible.

"I'm sorry," he said with a weepy voice, "but I'm lost, could you please help me."

"Me, helping a mud-blood, never," the ruffian said, but seeing Harry sniveling clearly made him a bit more relaxed.

Harry had to hold himself back from sighing. At least, his spotty luck was on his side today. He was against a bragger instead of a professional mugger. A bragger enjoyed the feeling of power he held over his victims, not realizing the opportunity he provided. Though, to be fair, in a similar situation, most of the people would be too afraid to exploit these chances. "Oh please sir, please don't hurt me," he said, falling down on knees, slowly crawling towards the thug.

The man looked at the pathetic sight on the ground, begging for mercy. His expression was between elation from seeing a mud-blood in his rightful place -on his knees, begging-, and disgust from seeing a man folding so quickly under pressure. However, distracted by his emotions, he was unprepared to respond to Harry's punch, meeting with his diaphragm. Another quick hit later, he fell on the ground, blood flowing freely from his nose. As a silver lining, though, Harry's feet met with his face next, sending him into oblivion, where pain would stay away for now.

"Idiot," Harry said to the motionless body. Even though he was far from a pacifist, he always hated people using their strength to cause fear and discomfort in others. However, just as he was about to leave the vicinity, he had an idea that would indirectly help his biggest problem. He reached down, and plucked the wand from his fingers. As he picked the wand, he felt like a little warmth spreading across his body, but he pushed it into the back of his mind, and started traveling back to busier parts of the streets after making sure the man wouldn't suffocate from his own blood flow, whistling in content.

 **/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\**

Not being able to do anything else without having access to some more money, he returned to the motel after buying the Standard Book of Spells, though it cost to rest of the silvers in his pouch.

After he returned, the first thing he did was to sit down and started reading, with the attitude of a wolf devouring its first hunt after a particularly meager winter.

However, it took less than an hour to feel like he was about to pluck his hair due to built up frustration. Though the reason was different than most people assume. After a glance at him, most people would rightly assume he was a delinquent, with his short hair, quick temper, and various scars. However, people never guess he was a reader. Always a loner, he looked up places to stay alone. And, both in primary school, and later in St. Brutus, one of the places he could always get some uninterrupted silence was the library. At first, he was only reading to stave off the boredom he felt, but as the times passed, reading became one of his favorite fast times, especially when recovering from particularly nasty fights.

The reason of his frustration was the terrible organization of the book. It was so bad that, even referring it as the organization was an insult to publishing in general. The spells were sorted without any logical sorting, lacking any kind of contents table or index, descriptions and how to cast the spells were the haphazard mix that is almost impossible to decipher. And all these were built upon the fact that these books were clearly aimed as a support material to an instructor, clearly lacking a lot of vital instruction. Any normal person would stop at that point and wait for the school to start his attempts.

However, Harry was far from what one call normal. He was a person who enjoyed taking risks and experimenting, not to mention he was chronically reckless.

He decided to focus on the simplest of the spells, Lumos, a spell creating a small light on the top of a wand. He grabbed his looted wand, and practiced described motion, a simple stabbing gesture, several times, then started to say Lumos various tones…

Three hours later, he sat down, drinking a bit of water to moisten his dried throat. "Okay," he whispered, "its clearly not the way to go." He was sure that he was missing something.

Brainstorming on the topic for a few minutes, he decided to progress in a different way. He remembered every time he achieved something weird, or 'accidental magic' as the introduction booklet named, he was in strong emotional distress, mostly in anger or fear.

"Lets try out the dark side," he said with a crooked smile, and tried to remember one of the times that made him truly furious. He focused on the memory of the time when he was led to an ambush by one of the boys he would almost call a friend. Several of the St. Brutus's occupants, not appreciating the fact that Harry wasn't showing them the necessary respect, decided to punish him, and convinced one of the few Harry was in talking terms to direct him to a spot where they could employ some punishment without any distraction.

When the ambush was closed, however, the gang met with a nasty surprise. Details were still fuzzy in Harry's mind, but four of the seven attackers had to be hospitalized for a serious time period. Only other thing Harry remembered was none of them dared to tattle off Harry about it.

Even now, remembering the anger he felt, against the betrayal and against the cowardice of the gang was still fresh inside of him. He could feel his heartbeat increasing, his breathing getting faster and faster. He took a deep breath and intoned with a strong voice, "Lumos!"

The sudden pulse of red light was unexpectedly bright. Harry toppled back in shock, then started laughing, enjoying the sudden achievement. However, a few minutes later, he was distracted by the smell of smoke. Raising his head, he saw the chair was started to burn. Swearing in panic, he poured a pitcher full of water on the chair, extinguishing the flame.

"At least, it worked," he talked to himself, a sheepish expression on his face. "But maybe less anger would be better. Now that he was successful at least once, he decided to cast again, feeling happy with his most recent success. He cast the same spell several times, trying to focus what was exactly different between success and failure. He was sure it wasn't fully dependent on the mood, because the wizards he saw was using these spells in a casual manner.

Several tries later, he was able to isolate a feeling what he could describe as a special feeling, that could be named as warmth though it was far from it, traveling through his arm whenever he successfully cast a spell.

"Now lets try the light side," he said, trying to calm himself before his next try. He tried to cast it again and again, trying to evoke that special warmth without any extreme emotion.

It took more than an hour, but in the end, he managed to cast a small, flickering light with a blue hue. "Perfect," he said, smiling, and continued practicing. He went to bed only after making sure that he was able to cast it perfectly ten times in a row. "First step complete," he whispered, just before slept conquered rest of his brain.

However, he was again casting the Lumos spell, trying to see if modifying the results were possible. It was a habit he earned from fighting. He learned that ability to execute a maneuver to perfection with all of its variations were much more effective than having a great repertoire of mediocre moves. So he spent rest of the June, trying to achieve different results.

While boring, his focus yielded extremely good results. Not only he learned to exert control over his magic in order to amplify or weaken the effects without changing nothing, he also discovered that it was possible to cast a spell without any motion or vocal component, though it required a bit more concentration and results were usually weaker.

Much to his pleasant surprise, learning other spells proved to be surprisingly easy. Since he was accustomed to the mechanics, he managed to cast any spell in the book by reading the description carefully, then attempting to cast several times. It was so much easier that it took less than two weeks to learn rest of the spells in the book to a satisfactory level, including the silent casting.

 **/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\**

His other problem, lack of funds had an interesting towards the end of July.

He was sitting in his room and practicing, as usual, when he had heard a knock on the door. He quickly hid his wand and his books into a drawer and opened the door.

He was caught flat-footed when a hulking man charged at him, fist raised. "Fuck," he managed to whisper as he managed to deflect a punch, managing to save his head by a hair's breath. He managed to take a couple steps back, hoping to create some distance, but the attacker followed, throwing punches to keep Harry unbalanced. Hurting from the several punches he didn't manage to deflect, he tried to counter attack with a hook, but the man managed to dodge and hit Harry's diaphragm with a straight.

Harry folded onto his knees, trying to breathe. A minute later he stood up, a scowl on his face. "Damn it, Stephan, when you will learn to say hello like normal people do."

"Normal is overrated kiddo," the man answered with a large smile, his teeth almost shining in contrast to his black skin. "And you would probably get a big head without me deflating it from time to time."

Harry matched with his cheek with a smile of his own. "Really," he said, "then how about another appointment in the ring, lets see how you would fare without an ambush."

The man chuckled, and said, "I think I will pass on that kiddo, I'm still hurting from last time I had made that mistake."

"Have you had any dinner," Harry asked.

"No, not yet."

"Lets go have some, there is a good place around the corner, it has a steak to die for."

"Why not, kiddo," the man answered and they left Harry's room.

After eating dinner, Harry asked, "What exactly brought you here buddy?"

"Its about thing you mentioned in last month. I'm assuming you still in need of some cast."

"Oh yes," Harry said. "I need at least ten thousand, maybe even fifteen."

Stephan whistled. "That is a good amount, but you are lucky. I heard that there is will be an underground fighting event in the outskirts, and it will be pretty high key, meaning they will pay at least a thousand for every fighter, and I'm sure we will get some excellent odds for you, being a young and unproven fighter you are. I know it would be a little hard, but win just one, and we will probably earn more than five thousand each. What do you say?"

"What do I say," Harry said with a smile, "I say lets show what exactly the student of Stephan is capable off."

 **/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\**

A week later, they were standing near to a corner in an extremely crowded warehouse, a throng of people gathered around a ring, watching two men slugging off.

"I think I'm having second thoughts kiddo," Stephan said with a worried tone. "I wasn't exactly expecting that many experienced guys to join the event. Some of these are feared for a reason. It is not too late to pull back," he said even as his eyes skipped between rival fighters.

"No way in hell," Harry argued with a loud voice. "Not after we put almost all of our money in bets. We both need that money." A determined smile covered the lower half of his face, "Are you sure you have seen the odds they were giving me."

"Yeah, they are kind of high," Stephen agreed with a wistful smile. "But I'm throwing the towel the moment I think you are in danger, okay?"

"Definitely."

"Its good that you agree. I hate arguing with you when you feeling stubborn, you never listen. I can't even remember last time I managed to convince you not to do anything."

Harry smiled a bit in remembrance of the past. "I think it was the time you convinced me not to burn principals car."

"Yeah, you were a cute little pyromaniac back then, burning everything you don't like." He laughed out a bit, "But still, burning hair and the eyebrows of a bully, just because he insulted me was a nice gift."

"Hey, nobody could get away with insulting my deadbeat, useless teacher but me. It is a point of pride."

"Thanks," Stephan answered with a forced flat voice, trying not to show his amusement. Several minutes passed in silence, then he spoke again, this time, his tone much more serious. "It is your turn now, are you are ready?"

"Of course," Harry said, as he took a deep breath and started walking towards the ring...

 **/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\**

"I hate you, and your harebrained ideas, Stephan," was the first thing Harry said after he woke up.

He was lying in the guest room of the Stephan's apartment, having slept off the worst of the last night's damage.

"I love you too kiddo," Stephan answered with a cheerful tone. "Want some breakfast," he said with a cheerful tone, "I went out and bought some breakfast from a small place I know, believe me, their beans are to die for."

"Of course I want it, you asshole," said Harry, but his voice was lacking any rancor. "I definitely need a shit-load of protein after the last night's events.

"Don't worry about it, beans, fried eggs, bacon, some sausage; this has all the protein you need, then some," said Stephan, pointing at the huge plate filled with said goods.

Without saying anything, Harry wolfed down on the breakfast without saying a word.

Stephan nibbled on his own breakfast for a while, then suddenly a smile appeared on his face and asked, "How does it feel to almost become a champion."

Harry's face scrunched a bit. "Oh god, please don't make me remember it, I was so close to victory, only to fell down with a sucker punch, what an idiot move."

Stephan laughed in good humor, "That is the experience for you, you got to overconfident in last fight. As I always tell, never let the experienced fighter dictate the rhythm, and this was exactly what you did, attacking at the every single opening you saw. You became predictable, thus lost the fight. Though I'm not sure you even had the chance to begin with, there is a reason is Thomas is a legend. It was your luck that he is one of the nicest fighters in the underground arena. I personally noticed two times he held back just not to incur any serious damage, waiting for opportunity for a clean punch. You do owe him for that."

Harry looked at him with a sheepish grin, "Yeah, I will give you that, the way I acted was not exemplary, though, in my defense, it was hard to think after you got hit so many times."

"Yeah, I still cannot believe you survived that quarterfinal match, yet alone winning it. For a moment I thought he was going to kill you."

"Come on Stephan, you know I'm stronger than I look," said Harry.

"Don't I know it?" said Stephan, a large smile blossoming on his face. "Most important thing, though, you won three other fights, and that means after including out bets we won always a hundred thousand pounds, twenty thousand to me, eighty to you."

Harry's expression become a little serious, "You know I won't mind to split it 50-50."

"I know kiddo, but I would feel bad doing that, you were the one that bled last night, so you deserve most of it." He stopped for a moment, almost to gather thoughts, then continued, "And it doesn't take a genius to realize that you need money for something you cannot tell me about, so…"

Harry nodded a bit, appreciating the fact that he had enough trust in him to not to push for an explanation.

After some silence, they started to have some small talk. At one point, Stephan reminded him, "By the way, be careful with the money, after last night's performance, the odds on you will be much lower next time."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry, and they continued on their small talk.

 **/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\**

Always a quick healer, it took two days for Harry to recover from the worst of the damage. The first thing Harry did was to travel to Diagon Alley again, only stopping at the motel to pick up his wand. Passing through the Leaky Cauldron after having a small talk with Tom, Harry directly traveled to Gringotts, already decided to open an account in the Goblin Bank, simply because it would be nice to have a business that isn't going to report the government about his earnings, as illegal underground fights weren't exactly the most legal way one could earn a living.

However, he was still in two minds about the goblin bank. Apparently they were a legal monopoly, and never heard anything called interest. On the plus side, though, their reliability was legendary. Through the known history, nothing that has been given to goblin stewards has been lost, at least according to Tom. In Harry's perspective, any phrase starting with never usually built on lies. Also, there was their attitude towards the laws the consider. Apparently they did everything they could to fleece you as long as it is technically legal, so signing anything with a goblin beyond standard bank contracts were akin to financial suicide.

Passing through the double gates of the Gringotts, he waited for a teller to finish his work, then spoke, "I will convert some money, and I want to open an account in Gringotts," Harry simply explained, following the tips from the Tom. He explained that the Goblins did not enjoy to trade words, especially with wizards, so less word you used, less annoyed they get.

"To open a vault, you need to have twenty galleons initial deposit."

Harry reached to his pocket, and removed a large bundle of money. "Eighty thousand pounds," he simply said, "To be converted to galleons."

First time since Harry started talking, the goblin deigned to raise his head and spare a glance, though his eyes quickly zeroed on the money instead. He pulled them from Harry's hands, and counted them with swift movements. Then he gave a pouch, filled with galleons. "To open an account, you need to follow that corridor, and talk to an account manager."

Simply nodding, Harry followed the given direction and found himself in front of a door marked as account management. Seeing the open signal, he pushed the door and entered, following yet another tip from Tom, never knock on a door that has an open signal, just enter. "I will open an account," he stated.

"Name and Surname," goblin said, pushing a small dagger towards him.

"Harry Potter," Harry answered.

Harry didn't know why but the goblin raised his head and throw an annoyed glare at Harry, and said "Blood," pushing a small dagger, accompanied by a golden bowl, towards Harry.

Harry cut the top of his finger, reluctantly. It wasn't the small cut that disturbed him, as he had much worse almost daily, but the fact that he was giving blood without knowing full ramifications irked him, but he followed Tom's advice. He assured Harry that taking blood was standard procedure, but advised him to watch it get destroyed after the process, just in case.

After looking the blood results for a while, Goblin asked: "Will the new account will be linked to Family account, or will it be an independent one."

"Family vault?" Harry asked, surprised, "What family vault?" Just what the hell is going on, Harry thought, Why would I have a family vault?

Goblin sighed impatiently, and started explaining without even raising his head from the work in front of him. "Since you are the last surviving member of a minor noble house, you have the right to link the account into familia proper."

Harry stood there, a bit shocked. Whatever he excepted, being a part of the nobility wasn't one of them. "Can I choose to do it later?" Harry asked, not wanting to screw up.

"You can," goblin said, but Harry felt like the goblin was disappointed, though he didn't know why. "But until you do, you have to pay two galleons per year as the vault fee."

"Okay," Harry said, simply nodding to the exorbitant price. He lacked a reasonable alternative to it, for now, so he just had to suck up yearly fee of a thousand pounds."

After a few minutes of wait, goblin gave him a key, and said, "No one unapproved could use it, if you lose, you pay 5 galleons for next one." Then he pushed a ring towards him, "And this is your heir ring, you don't have the access for the Ring of the Head until you accept the full responsibility of the family, only then you will have access to your family riches."

Harry nodded, and moved back to the teller. He wasn't sure why, but he definitely didn't enjoy the tone when goblin said the phrase, 'the family riches'. It was the first time he saw a goblin openly amused at something. And if he had understood anything about the goblins, the fact that he was amused didn't bode well for him. Pushing back the family topic and its full ramifications, for now, he asked for a guide to his vault. Several minutes later, Harry was again out, a hundred and fifty galleons safely resting at his vault.

After leaving Gringotts, he sat down in a small cafe, mindlessly playing with his food while thinking about the latest revolution, trying to understand what it really meant. Deciding to learn what really happened, he went to the closest bookstore, and tried to find material on noble houses, but he failed on that account. So he moved on the next logical point, and browsed available material about last twenty years.

He was a bit surprised to learn that there had been some kind of civil war, 'or a dark lord,' as the books pretentiously called it, resulting it quite a number of death, though the books avoided giving even an approximate number. A few minutes of digging yielded some results, as he found an account of the deaths through the last days of the war, also mentioning the heroics death of James Potter, together with his wife.

At that moment, Harry didn't exactly know how to feel. After listening for years that his parents were jobless drunks, he suddenly learned that all of them were lies, instead, they were both war heroes and in addition, his father was a member of the nobility. He felt both a little sad, and elated at the same time. He felt elated to learn that his parents were much better than he previously known, but he also feel sad that he lost his parents once and for all. After all, he knew about them as the drunk addicts, and this were gone, even if they have been replaced with better versions.

Determined to understand what really happened, he started to read the materials he could find about the war.

Apparently, the magical world, or Britain at least, had some sort of civil war. There were several references to a Dark Lord, supported by several pureblood families have started a terrorist movement for some kind of blood movement, and has been vanquished by a guy named Dumbledore. Other than these, books on the subject were poor in detail, so only thing Harry was sure about that there was a small civil war through several years, ended when that Dumbledore fellow vanquished said dark lord on 31 October 1976, almost sixteen years ago.

A bit more digging, and he managed to reach a small piece about heroes of the war. He managed to find reference to his father, James Potter, explaining several heroic things he accomplished through the war, though there were no mentions of his mother other than saying James Potter died with his wife. Harry didn't know whether it was because his mother wasn't a fighter, or it was because she was a muggle-born, or even because she was a woman.

He placed them back, then quickly left the Diagon Alley, and returned to normal London. For several hours, he walked through the streets of London, trying to sort the confusion he felt. For a moment, he thought about returning to his motel room, but being cooped in a room, alone, didn't exactly sound appealing, so he went to one person he could always have a talk with, Stephan.

Harry found him in the third place he checked, one of the pubs he usually hangs around daytime. Stephan was alone, eating a late lunch. Harry sat down without any preamble.

"Are you okay," Stephan asked after seeing Harry's expression. "You don't seem too well."

"I'm not really sure how I feel," said Harry. "I just learned something new about my parents."

Hearing this, Stephan stood still for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then he reached and slowly patted his shoulders. "Don't worry about it, no matter how terrible they were, you are your own person."

Harry took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "That is the problem, buddy. I didn't have any problem when I thought they were just lazy drunks. But today, I have learned that they weren't. Apparently they were heroes, and died fighting for…" he stopped for a moment, thinking what to say, then he decided to finish with "for the country," not wanting to complicate the problem even more with the other secrets.

Stephan winced, understanding Harry's dilemma. He signaled a waiter to bring several shots of Scotch. "To your parents, then," he whispered, raising a glass up.

"To my parents," Harry whispered back, downing the shot in one quick motion.

Rest of the day passed in a blur for Harry, he remembered a few more shots in the pub, then a travel back to Stephan's place, followed by several more glasses filled with bitter tasting liqueurs, then blackness…

 **/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\**

Next day, Harry woke up with a terrible headache, and an immediate need to visit the bathroom. After spending several hours combating the worst hangover of his life, he sat down, his mind still on the talk he had last night, at least about the parts he could remember. One of the Stephan's talks really hit home, though. What he basically said was cherish knowing that your parents were heroes, but ultimately do not forget that nothing has changed. They don't have any more effect on you compared to the past when you thought that they were alcoholics. You were your own person then, and you are your own person now.

Thinking about it, Harry appreciated this approach. Whether his parents were drunks, or war heroes, didn't ultimately matter. He was his own person.

"Though, that nobility thing is a bit different," he talked to himself, as he walked back to Leaky cauldron. "I need to learn just what the fuck it entails."

After he returned to the magical side, he learned that there was a boutique bookshop, that serves exclusively to noble houses. So he followed the directions and found himself in front of a small shop towards the wealthier part of the district. Harry pushed the door and took a step inside, only to stopped by an old woman.

"Get out you ruffian," she said, "I will not give you any money."

"I'm going to buy a few book," Harry said with a calm voice.

"I don't sell to common trash," she said with a scathing voice.

"But I'm a noble," Harry said, pointing at the ring he was wearing.

She looked at the ring carefully for a few seconds, then spoke with an uncaring voice, "What do you want?"

Harry shrugged, apparently he was able to pass whatever scale she rated him with, though only barely.

"I was thinking about buying a few books on the something general about the laws and traditions of noble houses, and one about the interactions between the bank and the noble houses, do you have some."

"Okay," the woman said, and walked back to her desk, murmuring about the upstart minor houses, and heirs that dress like ruffians. Waiting for her to finish, Harry started to walk between the shelves, browsing the names of the leatherbound tomes.

While browsing, he noticed a book called Art of Dueling, written by a Rigel Black. Interested, he pulled it from the shelf, and started browsing it. It took only a few seconds to fell in love with the book, not only it contained several spells that looked highly dangerous, therefore, useful, but also, it contained several exercises the writer claimed that they were extremely useful.

"I said do not touch the books," a voice came from behind a few minutes later, distracting Harry from his reading.

"How much is it?" Harry asked directly.

"Eighty galleons," woman said without even blinking an eye.

Harry's mouth almost has fallen from its roof. He was expecting a high number, after all, even the cheapest school book cost hundreds of pounds, but forty thousand pounds wasn't just expensive, it was a fortune. He wanted to shout, but he held back. He already browsed several similar books on the subject, but none of them included a spell that looked remotely useful, and clearly written about a highly regulated event, like a boxing match in the Olympics.

This book, however, appeared to have a much more realistic approach to fighting. In the end, however, deciding factor was Harry's previous experience. Whenever he changed environments, the conflict always followed him, and Harry wasn't stupid enough to go to a new place without learning how to defend himself. From that perspective, several thousand pounds wasn't the worst investment. "Okay," Harry said. "How much is the books on the laws, and minor houses?"

"Fifteen Galleons," the woman answered.

"Okay, let me go back to Gringotts and get some money from my vault, then I will be right back."

After a quick travel to the bank, Harry was the proud owner of three books, even though his net worth has fallen considerably. Technically, there was a chance he would inherit a fortune from his family, but Harry wasn't particularly hopeful about that. He read too many books about proud noble houses of medieval age, bankrupting themselves in constant warfare and feasts, and there was no reason it hadn't happened to his parents too, especially considering the fact that they were fighting in a civil war.

Returning back to the hotel, he sat down in his bed, pulled a dictionary he picked up from a bookstore on the way to decipher some of the old words and phrases, and dived into the dueling book.

Most of the reading was quite enjoyable, even though it was a bit hard, but he almost had a panic attack when he arrived at a chapter named as, the war of the minds. He was shocked to learn that there were magical ways of mind reading. Harry felt like he was about the puke. For someone like him, who always held his privacy as sacrosanct, it was hard to find a more appalling thing.

Thankfully, however, the book had a substantial amount of material on the subject, even talking about some of the simple ways how to detect it and how to fight against it. Dismissing everything else, Harry simplemindedly dived himself to the material written on the subject.

The first thing he realized when reading to book that Occlumency wasn't a very common skill, though it was highly prized amongst the nobility. It wasn't that much of a surprise, in Harry's opinion. No one wanted their mind to be read, but it became vital if your memories contained more than a dozen scheme targeting your peers in any given time.

Another thing Harry found fortunate is that, according to the writer, one of the hardest parts of learning occlumency was to be aware of their own magical flow, and learning to manipulate it. Since Harry already achieved it, he was able to progress into next stage.

So, when the last week of August rolled in, Harry was reasonably sure that he could detect a surface scan into his mind, and lead it to a harmless memory. He deliberately chose not to create a static defense, because he didn't want to tip his hand if someone tries to read his mind. He was smart enough to realize that his skills won't be enough to prevent an all out mental assault from an adept legimencer, yet alone a master.

Additionally, he had learned a few dueling spells. Almost all of them were utility spells, as Harry hadn't dared to test anything destructive in a motel room. He really hadn't wanted to destroy part of the building in a miscast.

Additionally, he started on several basic exercises to increase control over his magic, some of them even useful dissipating basics spells cast upon himself, from paralyzers to stunners.

His study of the legal books, however, had been less helpful. No matter how much he tried, he failed to decipher the quagmire of reference contained within the books. The only thing he learned for sure was there were a great number of exception for the members of the noble houses.

Busy with these things, was only able to go for the school shopping at the last week of August. Most of this shopping trip were pretty routine, with one notable exception. The visit to wand shop. He didn't want to purchase one, but apparently there was a law against it, so Harry reluctantly went to a shop called Ollivanders.

 **/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\**

He pushed the door and stepped inside.

"Good afternoon, mister Potter," a creaky voice suddenly heard from behind. "How can I help you."

Harry turned a bit, annoyed at the cheap theatrics, though a bit intrigued about just how did the shopkeeper know his name.

"I want to buy a wand," said Harry.

"Of course Mr. Potter," Ollivander whispered, then started a monolog about his parents wands, then moved on how a wand chooses the wizard instead. Get over it, Harry thought, bored from old man's dusty voice and lame theatrics.

"Here, try this, ten inches, Dragonheart string and cheery," Ollivander said, giving a wand. "Give it a wave."

Harry grabbed it, and gave it a wave, letting a minuscule amount of his magic pass through it. It caused a lot of red, angry sparks to go off.

"Definitely not this one," Ollivander said, grabbing and pulling the wand from his hands. Giving another, "How about this one, maple, with Unicorn tail?" he said.

He forced Harry to try a lot of different wands, but this time, Harry was far from bored, he was almost fascinated to watch just how well his magic interacted with different wands.

Then he noticed that Ollivander pulled a wand from a special case. "Here," he said, "try this, eleven inches, Holly, and Phoenix feather."

As soon as Harry grabbed this, he could feel the difference. His magic flew through it, it felt wonderful...

And wrong. Harry didn't know how, or why, but under all the feelings of elation and happiness, a part of Harry's mind was shouting wrong. Wanting to go down about this feeling, he quickly paid off the wand-maker and left, not paying attention to dribble that was coming from Ollivander's mouth.

He quickly moved to a secluded corner and focused on the feeling, employing his meager occlumency skills to focus further.

After focusing enough time, he noticed that the wand was trying to latch to his magic and his mind, almost trying to change both of them. Harry didn't know whether it was the famous relation with the wand and wizard, or something else, but he wasn't going to allow a piece of wood to affect his identity. "Fuck it," he whispered, as he brought it to his knee, cleanly breaking it to two, only to be held by a goldish red feather. He really didn't care much about the ramifications, after all, as he would probably claim he accidentally broke it. After all, carelessness of the teenagers were infamous, right.

After casting a spell, he started to walk back to his motel, leaving two pieces of Holly and Phoenix feather, burning slowly…


	3. Chapter 2: A castle full of magic

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

 **Chapter 2: A castle full of magic**

Harry woke up in the morning of the first of September, feeling a little excited at the prospects of the day. "I hope I am ready," he mumbled as he left the bus, walking towards the King's Cross station with a duffel bag in his hand, having sent his trunk with the postal service beforehand. He was feeling a bit skittish, now that he was about to completely immerse into a brand new world. He was able to learn only a few defense spells, spending a majority of his time learning Occlumency. He just hoped that these spells would be enough to protect himself, at least, when they were combined with his physical skills. However, he was aware that there were one major problem in this thought process, he had no idea about the skill level of the people raised in a magical environment, especially if they had a few years of schooling above him. He hadn't observed many extraordinary feats from people in Diagon Alley, but the guys in Hogwarts should be in a completely different level from a skills perspective.

"No matter," he murmured as he found himself in front of the small gateway, platform 9-¾, "there is no benefit of musing on this issue." Instead, he checked his ticket to see whether he was Though, even without any sign, the gate was very noticeable, awash with magic. He could sense faintly sense a lot of enchantment woven together, even though he wasn't able to decipher what these was exactly. After spending a minute trying to examine the gate, he stepped through the gate.

He found himself in a large, crowded opening, filled with an absolute cacophony as the people talked with loud voices, trying to be heard in the noise. They were dressed in robes with outrageous colors, from bright purple to neon green. Shrugging his shoulders, Harry started to walk towards the train, not caring about the stares from nearby people, no doubt taking offense at his dressing style, a simple white t-shirt, and blue jeans. He managed to board the train after pushing a few people around.

He happily noted that train was not yet crowded, with most people trying to maximize the time spent with their families. He picked an empty compartment, and removed a book from his bag. Then he drew his wand, and locked the door with a simple locking charm. He knew it wouldn't held against even the simplest unlocking charm, but it would give him a moment a few seconds in the process.

Then, he started exercising with magic. On the surface, the training he picked looked pretty simple, just creating multiple floating lights and forcing them to move independently. The original training he read from the dueling book was about holding a flame sphere on the air and commanding it without any wand movement, but when he started this training, Harry still hadn't been very trusting to his skills, so tried to a less destructive version while still staying challenging.

So he come up with a modified version of the first spell he casted, Lumos. At the start, he was barely able to direct two free floating light, with great difficulty, but after more than a month of training, he was able to hold six independent balls of light in the air, though he could feel the strain of working at his limits. It was a repetitive exercise, easy to get bored from, not to mention it only increased his control, not his maximum output, but Harry stubbornly persisted. One of the lesson he learned from years of fighting was that, hitting hard was overrated, the important thing was to hit at the right time, with the right amount of force.

Several minutes later, he felt the magic holding the door closed dispersing, another cool trick he devised. By letting a small strand of magic stay connected with the spell instead of separating it from finished construct as usual, he gained ability to observe status of his spell.

Having no desire make a spectacle out of his training, he dispersed the floating lights with a flick of his wrist, then sat down and opened the book he previously removed from his bag.

The door opened a few seconds later, and a tall, red-haired boy entered the compartment, followed by a bushy haired girl. The redheaded boy's robe was in gold and scarlet, and there was a golden badge pinned to his chest. Probably a prefect, Harry thought dismissively. He have read about the prefects, and to him, they seemed like glorified hall monitors.

"It is forbidden to keep the doors locked in the express," the boy spoke in haughty tone.

Holding back an almost instinctive eye roll, Harry thought what to say, last thing he needed was a rule freak on his tail. "Someone locked me inside when I was sitting here," Harry said simply, deciding that deflection would suit his intention best.

"Then it is a good thing that I was patrolling the corridors," the boy said, puffing his chest in pride. "My name is Percival, and I'm one of the Gryffindor prefects. That means I'm mainly responsible for the discipline amongst my own house and tasked to keep the hassle in the train to a minimum." He glanced around for several seconds, probably looking for any possible rule violations, then he turned back and left the compartment without saying anything, leaving Harry with the bushy haired girl that accompanied him inside Harry's compartment.

"Hello," the girl spoke with obvious excitement. "My name is Hermione, Hermione Granger, and I'm a first year muggle-born, just like you. Isn't it exciting, being magical, I still cannot believe I'm a witch…" She continued rambling for almost a minute, then asked him, "What is your name?"

"Harry," he answered, without even raising his eyes from the book, hoping that she would take a hint, but it proved to be in vain.

She stopped for a couple of seconds to see whether he would add something, then she continued her rambling. "Being a muggleborn, I'm sure you can imagine my parents' attitude, they were convinced that we are on camera prank, or something similar. Only after Professor McGonagall came and demonstrated some magic, they finally believed it…"

Harry had to hold himself back from physically throwing her out. Even though he wasn't exactly felt similar, he could understand where her enthusiasm was coming from. Probably living a sheltered childhood, she was probably seeing marvelous opportunities of magic where Harry saw ambushes and invasion of his mind. However, just because he understood, it hadn't meant that he wasn't getting annoyed from endless dribble spilling from her mouth. He just hoped that she would get tired at some point.

Following minutes showed him that his hopes were in vain. After finishing telling about her feelings and hopes, she started a monolog about Dumbledore's greatness and his legendary achievements, from his victory about two Dark Lords to his discoveries in the field of alchemy, repeatedly saying that how Gryffindor should be the best house to produce such an exemplary wizard.

At that point, Harry more or less blocked her voice, nodding and grunting at from time to time, trying to fall asleep. To him it was extremely jarring that someone could generate such a strong hero worship about a person she didn't even know he existed a few months ago. Didn't she know most information about the history, especially if written about the near past, was practically worthless, and mainly produced as propaganda material. And the stuff written about that Dumbledore guy was eerily reminiscent of the life stories of dictators, at least the ones that has been published when they were still in power.

Luckily, a pudgy boy named Neville entered the compartment, and pulled her attention to himself on himself, and Harry was able to take a nap.

 ** _/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\_**

"We have almost arrived," a far too familiar voice said, simultaneously poking him on the ribs. "You need to change into your robes."

Harry opened his eyes and saw that it was almost the night. He stood up and reached for his duffel bag, nodding to Hermione in appreciation. While nodding at her, he noticed that her eyes were red and puffy, and her shoulders were fallen; a complete shift from her earlier almost manic behavior. However, Harry chose not to comment on it, and left the room, walking towards the nearest bathroom.

After changing into his robes, he followed rest of the people out. He saw there was a huge man, shouting, "First years, first years follow me."

Harry looked at him, intrigued. The man was above seven feet by quite a bit, with a girth to match. While he had a certain roundness, Harry was sure he was similar to a strongman, lots of muscle, covered with a thick surface of fat. Taking a note never to be in his wrong side, he walked to the boats on the shore he pointed, picking an empty one.

Several minutes later, when almost all boats were filled with first year students. "There is a lot of students," Harry murmured, looking at the expanse. "There must be around three hundred."

"Hello," said a girl with auburn hair who joined him on the boat. "My name is Susan Bones, and she is Hannah Abbott," she said, pointing to blond girl next to her. "What is your name?"

"Harry Potter," he replied. From the expression on their faces, it was clear that they recognized the name, but they refrained from commenting on it.

"Nice to meet you," they said.

Harry nodded back then started to watch slow waves of the lake, not wanting to talk further. They caught on pretty quick that Harry wasn't a very verbose person and spent rest of the journey talking amongst themselves, while Harry watched the boat slowly skid across the silky lake.

After taking a turn, they met with the exquisite view of the Hogwarts for the first time. Even a cynical person like Harry had to admit that the castle was indeed splendid, from delicate windows adorning its walls to its towers, impressively climbing towards the heavens. And the view was further enhanced by its reflection on the lake surface.

After disembarking, first years found a professor, an old looking woman with a serious expression in her face, waiting for them. "Hello everyone," she said with a clear voice, some of the words carrying hints of a Scottish accent. "As the deputy headmistress, I welcome you to Hogwarts. I'm sure that we will spent seven years together, filled with wonders and compassion. But now, maybe the most important part of your Hogwarts life is waiting for you, the Sorting. Whichever house you have been chosen will be your family, not only for your school years, but for all of your life."

Pausing for a minute to see if there was any question, she continued, "There are four houses, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin." Harry had a strong feeling that the lining of these names wasn't accidental, especially considering the slight, almost unnoticeable distaste when she mentioned Slytherin. "Now, we will all move into the antechamber, and you will be called into great hall, according to your last names. When you hear it, please walk forward to the middle of the great hall, but please refrain from running."

After giving a quick list of do's and don'ts he left the first years in the accompany of eight prefect, one male and one female from each houses.

Harry took a few steps back towards the corner, his stance making it clear that he wouldn't appreciate anyone talking to him. He started to watch interactions between other first years.

First thing he noticed was several group had quickly formed around some people. First thing he noticed was that there were a sizeable group around Susan and Hannah, but the people were shifting rapidly, joining and leaving. Harry assumed she represented either some kind of neutral faction, or she was relative of a politician.

Continuing glancing around, two of the groups caught his attention, mostly because they were pretty antagonistic against each other. One of these groups, relatively smaller one, was gathered around a blond haired boy. They were wearing high quality, and doubtlessly expensive, robes. Other group was gathered around a tall, redheaded boy, looking eeriely similar to prefect he had displeasure of interacting. Probably a brother or a cousin, Harry reasoned. His clothes were significantly different, they were clean, but it wasn't hard to notice that they weren't exactly pristine.

Members of the both groups looking each other with barely disguised hatred and disdain. Harry assumed it was either some kind of class warfare, or some kind of feud between old families.

Harry's observations had been stopped by the sudden opening of the doors. Two by two, prefects from every house moved forward, casted a light spell, creating image of their symbol animal in the air, and took place at the either side of the corridor. Then, Professor McGonagall started to call students one by one.

Paying only minimal attention to how sorting was going on, Harry's thoughts shifted to his next problem, entering his desired house. Deciding which house he wanted was pretty much trivial to him.

First choice he eliminated was the Hufflepuff. The description of the house was enough to drive him away. While he never had any problem with hard work, defining himself the concept of loyalty was a bit weird, and it usually came with the fact that you have to listen some people. Also, Hufflepuff's were famous for being communal, a stark contrast with him being a loner.

Both Gryffindor and Slytherin were out due to one simple reason, their famous rivalry. Harry knew how it worked for the gangs sharing deep rivalry with each other. It came with severe disadvantages. First, you had to defend yourself from constant attacks. Though it was annoying, it wasn't the reason Harry was reluctant to join with them. When you were a part of a gang, you always had to prove your commitment to leaders satisfaction, and had to bend your personal choices and ethics until they reasonably fits with your group, something that was anathema for the Harry. For this reason, both Gryffindor and Slytherin were out.

So Ravenclaw remained as the sole viable choice. Their reputation as a loner house fitted Harry perfectly. Also, they were famous for being overachievers, so people won't find it weird to see him reading a book over his level. Also Ravenclaw house were pretty much neutral, and not expected to be in various conflicts. Though a few times he came across references to rampant bullying in Ravenclaw house, it didn't exactly deterred him.

So he stood still for a moment, employing some mind tricks he learned training in Occlumency. He focused on driving his memories of spending endless hours in the library, reading alone. Last thing he needed was a magical hat deciding that since he was a fighter, he was clearly a better fit to Gryffindor.

He walked to center of the great hall, passing between prefects holding vigil, and pulled the hat onto his head. A moment later, he felt a sliver of magic entering his head. It must be the legimency probe, concentrating to hold library memories on top of his head.

Then the hat shouted Ravenclaw, so Harry removed it from his head and started walking towards the Ravenclaw table under the mandatory applause from Ravenclaw table. He sat on a free place and watched rest of the Sorting to finish.

Then he noticed something weird, there was another magical intrusion into his mind. Trying to keep himself calm, he used his already prepared memories of reading in libraries. Then, when the probe was busy browsing them, he created a false layer of calmness on the surface, and hoped that it would stay here. He knew that any deeper, any even a person with zero Occlumency notice, at least it was what the Black's book claimed. Thankfully, whoever was the culprit, he pulled pack after a while. Harry suppressed his desire to look towards the teachers table, most likely place for finding the culprit.

He forced himself to not to look at the teachers table, the most probable source of the intrusion. Whoever he or she was with the great idea of entering children's mind, Harry hadn't exactly wanted to warn them that he was able to notice something was amiss.

After the last student has been sorted, the man that was sitting on the middle of the table stood up, and raised his hand like he was asking for silence. He started talking with a warm tone.

"Good evening my dear students," he started to talk. "First,I would like to welcome all new students on behalf of my staff, our old students and myself. It is a pleasure to have you all here. I'm sure you will find a home in Hogwarts, create friendships that will last through your whole life.

However, I'm sure you are hungry, so I will leave giving a detailed explanation to your head of house, so lets dig in." He finished his talk with a hand gesture, and suddenly a lot of food appeared on the plates.

Reaching towards some steak and roasted patatoes, Harry mulled over the mystery called Dumbledore. He didn't need to be a genius to see that Dark Lord Hunter/Eccentric scientist/Absentminded but beloved Headmaster were barely able to fit together. And when he added the position of Supreme Mugwump and a couple of other political positions, even that patchwork cohesion completely shattered. Also was able to learn something after years of interactions with various bureoacrats, if someone was looking completely innocent, they usually did it to keep dirt away from the eyes. Anyway, Harry thought as he returned to his dinner, its not like I would have any personal interactions with him.

 ** _/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\_**

After the dinner, a fifty-year prefect, a girl named Penelope, directed them towards the Ravenclaw tower, located in the fifth floor. After passing a password protected portrait, they found themselves in a room with high ceiling, decorated with blue tones. The room was filled with high chairs and large tables and looked more like a library than a living room. They could see a small man were waiting for them in the middle of the room. His hair was almost completely white, but Harry noted that he didn't move like an old man.

"Welcome to Raven's Nest," he started his speech. One would expect that a man with his looks and size would be a little more cheerful, but his voice was calm, and his face was a bit emotionless. "I'm professor Flitwick, in addition to being Charms professor in Hogwarts, I'm also the head of house.

As your head of house, I'm the one responsible for your general wellbeing, and I have the right to act like final arbiter for any disciplinary matter. If you feel like you have been wronged by another teacher, you can always come to me, but beware, if I find the teacher right, I will double the given punishment, be it detention, or suspension. So be sure you are wronged before using that way.

Also, the prefects have my full trust solving in-house matters, so I want you to use them unless your grievances with one of them, and even then, talk with an older prefect first.

You either know, or will soon learn, that there is a rather infamous rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin house, not to mention sporodic internal problems in the Hufflepuff house. I strongly recommend you to keep away from these struggles, but you are free to be a part of them if you wish so, however, if you try to involve your house with you, you will feel my displeasure.

I wish you a good year," he finished his talk and left the room in slow steps.

Oldest male prefect took over and started explaining. "As you heard, we are the first contact point for any problem you might have, from finding your ways to any struggle in class. As Ravenclaw students, you are expected to hold a minimum grade through the semester in addition to other feats that might be expected from you." Then he started explaining some of the basic things, like how to navigate in Hogwarts, dinner times and some other things.

"Our rooms, contrary to other houses, are not communal, each of you will have your own. Let me say that they are extremely spartan, but they don't have to stay like that. Their condition is like that in order to provide extra incentives for you to develop them. And let me warn you that asking another person's help for doing actual casting is worse than cheating in an exam, and if you get caught, you won't be happy for the results. Its one of the things that the Professor Flitwick takes extra notice, and believe me, you don't want his extra punishments on you."

After explaining this, the prefect moved onto other things, like curfews, rules, and regulations. Rest of the explanations took a better part of an hour, then one of the junior prefects led them to their rooms.

"Finally," Harry murmured as he finally glanced at the room that will be his home for next seven years. It was furnished really spartan, with a small, old bed, a chair looking like it was about to fall off due its own weight, and a small table. The room wasn't exactly large, or clean either. "Damn, there is work to do," he whispered.

He saw both his trunk and his duffle bag resting in the corner. He checked them to see if there was anything missing, but luckily, there wasn't. With a tired sigh, he removed his uncomfortable robes and slipped into a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt. "Much more comfortable," he said as he took his wand to his hand, and continued his training.

Much to his surprise, however, he was able to summon fifteen lights without any considerable strain. Harry stopped for a moment, trying to understand what was going on. Since he didn't hit by a miraculous bolt of lightning or something like that, it wasn't hard to deduce that somehow, it was easier to cast spells in Hogwarts. He closed his eyes, trying to understand what really was different. It took only a few seconds to realize that background was filled with magic, making it much easier to gather a significant part of the energy from the air, therefore making casting much easier. He cast a few more to see if that was holding true for all of them, and he noticed that it was. "I guess this is why they chose to train new students here," he murmured as he returned to his training, finishing it before he goes to bed.

 _ **/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\**_

Next day he woke up a bit later than usual, so he skipped the exercising and directly went to breakfast after a quick shower. He noticed that not many students tried to talk with him, though he wasn't sure about the exact reason. It might be due to the fact that he was a half-blood, or about the fact that he was dressing in normal clothes, or even the fact that he looked like a delinquent. No matter what, however, Harry didn't care much about it, not exactly enthusiastic about hanging out with a few posh kids.

After he finished the breakfast, he swung by the library and picked a book about the magical theory after browsing the allowed material for him. From last night's explanation, he knew that only a limited pool was available for him to check out, in an attempt to keep dangerous material from students hands. Though browsing it, Harry noticed that a lot of material, from warding to enchanting, was free to check out, though he was a bit bummed to see there weren't a single book on the mind arts. But he didn't spend much time browsing the books, instead, he just checked out the book he has chosen, and walked towards class that will be home to first transfiguration class.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry entered the classroom, glad that he decided not to hang around in the library. The navigating through the halls of Hogwarts was significantly trickier than he previously assumed, and he was barely able to reach the class in time. He sat one of the free chairs towards the back, and glanced around the room, checking if there is interesting around. A huge classroom, filled with all first years. Slightly less than two-thirds of the students were Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, and a majority of the remainder were Slytherins, from what Harry could see from the colors of the robes.

A little less than a minute later, the doors were suddenly shut closed and Professor McGonagall appeared from a door on the front of the class, commanding silence from the students with her presence alone.

"Hello, all, and welcome to lecture part of the first year transfiguration class. As you all know, I'm professor McGonagall, and I will be your main transfiguration instructor, accompanied by some of my NEWT students," she said, pointing four people probably at their late twenties. "We will attempt to guide you through one of the most prominent, and difficult magical disciplines, transfiguration."

She took a deep breath, and expression further tightened. "Let me warn you about something, Transfiguration is not a discipline that could be taken lightly. And messing around with it without full knowledge of what are you doing could have disastrous results. This is why, for the first two months, our classes will be fully theoretical, and I deem you not ready, you will be forbidden from joining practical lessons. And if I caught you any one of you, playing with a spell without mastering theory first, or using it for pranks, you won't like the results," she finished, emphasizing last point with a strong slash of her wand.

After finishing the introduction, she progressed with the lecture about basic ideas behind the transfiguration. Her tone was a bit dry, but she was explaining some things far better than the books, not that it was a high point to reach considering absolute ineptitude of the writers, so listened carefully, taking notes.

What caught his attention was the bushy haired girl from the train, Hermione, raising her hand to every single question giving lengthy answers. Thought they are a bit long winded, they are showing a surprisingly deep assessment of the material, definitely not included in any books Harry read. And if the approving glare on her eyes were any indicator, apparently McGonagall thought so too. An impressive achievement for someone hadn't know magic existed a few months ago.

However Harry noticed one more thing, a lot of students were shouting nasty glares towards her, probably not happy to be shown off by an upstart, or muggle as they would call. It was predominantly Slytherins, with a good percentage of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws joined in. Even some Gryffindors were looking at her angrily despite the fact that she was raising their house profile. Harry idly wondered whether being a favorite of Deputy Headmistress will provide enough protection.

Another weird thing happened was that he thought he caught the professor looking at her several times, with a glare hinting disappointment. How weird, Harry thought, trying a bit to find a reason, but he was unable to do so, so he shrugged his shoulders and continued taking notes for the rest of the class.

 ** _/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\_**

Charms lesson progressed pretty much the same, though Professor Flitwick's demeanor in the classroom was markedly different, compared to last nights speech, his voice was higher, his attitude was more cheerful. Harry couldn't help but feel like it was a bit fake, probably a show he was putting for the class. It sounded a bit fake. Similar to Transfiguration, the class was completely, but he announced that first actual casting class would be next week, Monday afternoon. Even the questions were suffered a similar fate, being completely gutted by Hermione, but Flitwick started to ask to different people to answer, probably due to reason Harry noticed at last class.

Since charms were the last lesson of the day, Harry decided to head to Great Hall for a quick lunch, not really wanting to take part in the awkward mingle that was going on.

Though when he was walking he noticed several students giving him a stink eye, most of them either Gryffindors or Slytherins. Probably because I'm half-blood, he thought. From the things he read, it wasn't exactly hard to deduce these guys were a bit obsessed about genealogy and heritage. He just shrugged and passed on, not really caring about what they thought about him. Also Harry didn't exactly care about a few guys who might try to act using some force, it wouldn't be the first time he thought a lesson to some upstarts.

After lunch, he moved to library, quickly scribbling something for the homework assignments in about an hour. He had no desire to spent a whole day just to win a few extra points, however, he still did his homework, as producing a mediocre homework usually took less than not doing any, then listening endless lectures about being a useless student.

After finishing his homework, he stayed in the library, browsing some books on magical theory. A few hours later, he threw the books on the table and left the library in anger. Harry wasn't expecting to find anything that was written worse than their course book. However, these books managed to demolish his already low expectations with their terrible organization, overly complex sentences, and dozens of mistakes littered through the books. More importantly, they were talking about the laws while all they have wild hypotheses, only supported by a few personal anecdotes and references to even older wizards and witches. With a small hope, Harry checked these references too, only to find another bunch of hypotheses and personal anecdotes. "Oh god," he moaned loudly as he left the library. "All magicals are idiots," annoyed that these wizards missed a whole paradigm shift in how to explain things, cozily sticking in the intellectual complexity of middle ages.

So he decided to return to the Tower. He was in third floor when he noticed one of his fellow first year Ravenclaws was walking from opposite side. When he was Harry his walk suddenly changed, his chest puffed a little, his arms opened.

Harry had to hold in a sigh, he had seen too many times to miss the posing. Some guys were far too confident with their intimidation value. They never seriously consider the chance that things will turn violent, or, at least, assuming that any possible violence will be aimed towards the other party.

Having no interest in joining this juvenile posturing, Harry tried to just pass, but the guy slammed him with his shoulder, though instead of achieving the desired result of making Harry stumble back, he was the one that had to take a few steps backward.

"Hey, watch it asshole," the boy shouted, pushing his chest out in an attempt to be intimidating.

"Sorry," Harry said with a flat voice, turned and started to walk away, he could hear footsteps closing behind him.

"You mud-blood bastard," the boy shouted behind him, "You act like your half blood carcass is better than us, not even deigning to talk to us, its time to teach you a lesson."

Harry felt a hand grabbing his shoulder, futilely trying to force him to turn. Harry knew that best way to deescalate the situation was to take a few punch, and get humiliated a little. Harry knew that the last thing he needed was to start a fight with people, especially before completely learning to defend himself. However, the time he spent browsing on the library left him quite frustrated, and he wasn't exactly a calm person to begin with.

Harry grabbed the hand on his shoulder, and a quick twist later, the boy was crying in pain, pushed on the wall. He stopped for a second, trying to remember the boys name, "Listen, Tony," Harry started.

"It is Antony," the boy corrected, clearly offended.

Harry sighed and murmured about the mixed up priorities, and twisted the boys arm a little, eliciting another pained cry. "Do I look like I give a shit, Tony," Harry said in a dismissive tone. "Now listen carefully, I'm sure you have the excellent idea of taking revenge, so let me warn you beforehand. If you chose to attack me again, I will hurt you, I will hurt you badly. So please take the hint and go bother some useless rich kid like yourself."

To see if his message has driven home, he released him and pushed him onto ground, and turned his back at him, but continued watching him from corner of his eye. Seeing he picked his wand, pointing at Harry's back, Harry suddenly pounced, and plucked the wand right out of his hands before he could cast anything, carelessly throwing it to side. Then Harry grabbed his finger without saying anything and pushed it back, breaking it with one clean movement. "I think this shows you I am serious Tony boy, hopefully you will take me a little serious now." He patted head of the boy as he tried to hold his tears inside, saying "Now, have a nice day." This time sure there won't be any sneak attack, he left the vicinity without saying anything, acutely aware that he just pushed himself to a heap of trouble.

When he arrived at his room, his head was cooled down a little. He knew he fucked up, he could remember several upper years talking with the boy, probably due to family relationships, or maybe they knew each other before the school. However, regardless of the link, a revenge attempt was highly probable, so Harry started to take precautions, knowing his chance of handling this issue is not really worth betting.

He hid his dueling book and most of his money inside his dirty clothes, assuming it would be last place a bunch of rich kid will look for. Then he sat on his bed and attempted to replicate a technique aiming to dispel any spells that aiming to modify his status, like most of the prank spells, paralyzers, and stunners without using a wand.

He was still trying to figure out the trick behind the it a few hours later, when he heard his door opening. He raised his head and saw several upper years entering the room, trailed by Anthony, whose all fingers looked functional, though he instinctively clutched it when he noticed Harry was looking at it. Oh well, Harry thought, at least the help arrived to help me figure out the trick even as he examined the group. They was mostly second and third years, though a bit surprisingly, the fifth year prefect were also present. Harry stood up and took a step forward, deliberately leaving his wand on the table. "Look," said Harry, "Mr prefect is here too, aren't you worried that you will lose your badge, bullying a helpless student."

"Oh boy," the prefect chuckled. "You have much to learn. You will see that Professor Flitwick believes that every in-house problem should be solved in-house, involving neither him, nor the faculty. That means, as long as no other house or teacher is involved, we have a free pass on discipline."

Harry wasn't really surprised with this revolution, having more or less deduced this from the introduction speech. Harry took a deep breath, his hands raised like he meant no harm. He knew that no matter what he does, a beat-down was inevitable, but he had no desire to be the only one that is going down. He took a few steps towards the middle of the group, letting them circle him.

He could see that they are relaxed since Harry was far away from his wand. How stupid, Harry thought, apparently they simply wasn't aware how much damage someone could inflict without a wand. For a moment he considered being a good boy and just enduring the beating, knowing after the beating the intensity of hazing will radically go down, but in the end, he simply didn't felt like it.

Not waiting them to start casting, he suddenly pounced towards Anthony, and landed a one-two combination on him, one to his nose, other to his stomach. He knew Anthony was down to count, but since he was the provocateur, he deserved something special, Harry grabbed falling boy's arm and twisted, breaking it with a sickening crunch, then he let him fall, and focused his attention to nearest boy, smashing his chin with a roundhouse kick, knocking out him in one move. He knew his time was over, but nevertheless tried to attack to a third one, but he felt something hitting his back, and his legs suddenly lost all its power, and he folded to ground.

"You mud-blood barbarian," the prefect shouted, his anger palpable. "How dare you do something like…" his speech cut in midway, he was unable to find the words to express his anger. He took a few deep breaths and said, "Roger, Thomas, please carry injured to hospital wing," he said. Turning back to Harry, "You," he said, "you deserve somethings special. Tonight was just going to be a warning, but you proved that you are mutt, and mutts could only be trained by a nice beating." He cocked his feet back and smashed to Harry's stomach, causing his breath to escape.

Taking the cue from their leader, they started to kick the fallen boy, who was carefully protecting his head between his arms. Enduring it was easier than Harry expected. He was used to taking much worse in the underground arena, especially since these guys didn't knew best places to cause pain. In about thirty seconds, some of them bored from kicking and started mixing some prank spells. At least they are giving me an opportunity to test my techniques, Harry thought, looking at the silver lining.

It took them less than five minutes to get bored from kicking him. "Hey Liam," said one of the third years, "I'm getting bored, lets go."

"Sure," the prefect replied. "I'm sure he learned his lesson how to approach his betters, and I'm sure he will have fun lying there for god knows how long, waiting for paralysis to dispel." He too, stopped kicking, and started walking towards the door. "Lets go, I will make sure no one enters and dispels the hexes on him." Others followed him and left the room too, closing the door behind them, and left an immobilized Harry behind.

Harry, on the other hand, didn't care much about them leaving the room. He was busy trying to find the way to dispel the spells currently affecting him. He was laying there for almost an hour, painstakingly trying to create the effect described in the book, when he first achieved the success, he felt the spell that keeping his tongue locked disappear. "Finally," he said, happy that his voice has returned. Replicating this achievement took another ten minutes, but after a few repeats, he was able to reliably use it, and he quickly dispelled rest of the spells affecting him. "Awesome," Harry said with a smile, he wasn't even sure he would be able to use that technique, since the book he was learning them from wasn't exactly written with the school children in mind. But Harry reasoned that they must be relatively simple since he could be able to learn them relatively easily.

Finally free of the spells, he stood up and checked various parts of his body, seeing if there was something he wasn't feeling due to excess adrenaline. Happily, he hadn't found anything like that, so he started training. He had no intention of letting a small thing like taking a beating to come between him and the training. After the training he grabbed his wand and cast a few spells around, fixing the stuff some of the guys destroyed, and also he found his dummy pouch empty of a few sickle he left in. Finishing his stuff, he changed and laid down to his bed. "Not a bad first day," he whispered, a smile on his face.


End file.
